The Unknown Player
by MymymyHello
Summary: There were four unknown players on the Richmond High basketball team. They each had an untold story. This, however, is Will Buckman's story; the only other white player on the team. Why did he play ball, though? Why was he involved in sports? The answer to that is simple: He did it for the boys. Rated T for: Sexual Content, Crude Humour, Profanity, Violence, and Drug References
1. Hello

I ain't never been one to fight.

I ain't never been one to sit still neither.

Though, I have been one to lie.

I have been one to be angry.

I have been one to hate.

Not a day went by in my high school days that I didn't do all three of those.

Not a day _goes_ by.

I went to Richmond High School in 1999. I had a 2.4 grade average since my freshman year. However, the moment I walked through those doors I headed straight to the basketball sign up sheet.

Before I came to high school the sport I preferred was soccer. It was simple kicking and simple running.

But I _had_ to join some sport that year.

Football was full, I was tired of soccer and wrestling was full of the heavy-set crowd.

Thus I had one choice:

Basketball.

Why did I have to do a sport?

To be completely blunt, totally honest, and the most truthful I have ever been in my life…

I did it for the boys.

Yeah, I like sports; the thrill of the win and the burn of the loss.

But I stuck it out for the boys.

Those muscle-building, constantly sweating, heavy breathing boys are the reason I did sports all through high school.

And the best part? No one knew.

Let me be very clear that I was no prissy little bitch that would carry purses and wear make up.

I just…did it for the boys.

For two years I got away with it. I got away with the constant glances and never ending fastening-of-the-heart I got when we retreated to the locker rooms.

Did I deny it?

Fuck yeah. I still do.

But I got away with it and that was all that mattered.

Then came my junior year.

I didn't fight.

I didn't sit still.

I was angry.

And I lied hourly.

And I hated.

Those things weren't to my teachers, though. Yes, I lied to my friends and I was angry with my parents.

But what did I hate?

Me.

I hated me.

In came my junior year.

And everything changed.


	2. The most chaotic place on Earth

The game would be intense.

But what would happen in the end?

We'd lose.

Brady would be on the top of his game and we'd still lose.

It was bullshit, you know? We killed ourselves to get it right. Every game, every practice, every day, and every night.

I ruffled my hair, taking a breath and accepting the loss.

"You ain't done shit, Will," someone would grunt to me on our way to the locker rooms, grabbing my arm, their breath smelling of blame, "you gotta learn to fucking pass the damn ball!"

I'd pull my arm away, walking into the locker rooms.

My very favorite kind of room.

They'd all argue, cussing back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"You didn't do shit the whole game."

"You're the same way at practice, ass wipe."

"Can you even dribble?"

"Pass the ball, dawg!"

"That's why coach got rid of your dumbass!"

"You didn't do shit."

I'd stand there, watching the fury in them boil up and out. They'd point fingers at whoever they could see in front of them, accusing them of whatever they could think of. This would go on for an eternity if it could.

But would I be listening?

Not really.

Because Jason would take his shirt off.

As would Kenyan.

And Timo.

And Brady.

And Worm.

All of them, chiseled and perfect. All of them just what any woman on the planet would literally kill to have her hands on.

I'd remove my shirt, my tattoo splattered on my left shoulder, my bare chest nowhere near as good as the other guys.

But at least I had the advantage of staring.

I'd go over to my locker and drop my pants and briefs, soon my entire body bare before I took a towel and covered myself.

I like those few seconds of standing there naked, though. I like those few seconds of just standing there, my entire body exposed, and the possibiity, just the _possibility_ that one o' the guys is staring at me.

But I still put the towel on, the sensation gone and I walk over to the showers.

The fight is getting heated and I take the towel off behind the halfwall, picking up a sponge and walking to into the water. Kareem's next to me, burly as shit, and he dunks his whole face in his shower, his body wet and my eyes trying not to stare.

I start to bathe and the shit here gets loud. The yelling and the arguing just keeps pressing on, everybody from Jason to Timo to Jackson getting in on this.

After emerging my body in the water I move away from the showers and stand behind the halfwall so I can get a better view, my sponge on my chest going in a circle pattern. My attention is obviously not on actually bathing.

"_You_ were playing you didn't even do shit!"

I turn to my left and there's Jason, in nothing but a towel screaming at another player. This accusation, however, starts up a whole new crowd of disorganized yelling and cusses and accusations.

Kareem comes next to me, looking at me with I cocked eyebrow, "You didn't do shit either, Buckman."

"Leave me alone." I say to him.

He shoves me, "The fuck you think you talkin' to, huh?"

I just continue to bathe, watching my teammates get angrier and angrier. The disorganized yelling and accusing is all about, but the conversation my mind seems to focus is on went around the lines of:

"What you do the whole game, man?" Timo to Worm.

"I scored eight of our 32 points, shorty. What you do? Just stand there and look pretty?"

"You musta been pretty damn distracted if _that's_ what you asking me."

"What you say?" Worm stands, getting close to Timo, "What you callin' me?"

"Guys, guys," Battle says, "calm the hell down. I know Timo didn't do shit but don't kill him for it. We need him and his little _two-points a game_." Some snicker, Timo pushing Worm aside and yelling at Battle.

"You may've scored 12 but I scored 15 in our last game!"

"And I scored 16 in that one. You wanna keep going backwards with this?"

"Battle, Timo, both o' shut up."

"No, fuck off, Brady!"

"No, you fuck off, Timo."

"Jason, stop hogging the ball, you dumbass! If you didn't keep it than Ty wouldn'a made that three-pointer in the beginning!"

"Oh, so it's all my fucking fault now?" Jason puts his sweatshirt on.

"You damn right it is!"

"Go to Hell, Timo, you didn't do anything. Stop trying to prove you did."

"Oh, you watch you fucking-"

Before anything can be done Timo has Jason up against the wall, screaming at him. I see Coach slamming his hand against the other side of the wall just to make them stop, Battle and Brady doing a good enough job of separating the boys.

"Why you think everybody's scared o' you? I ain't scared o' you!"

Everyone is watching, Timo putting a towel around his neck and Brady watching him, as if trying to make sure he won't pounce or something.

"Why you always trying to act so hard all the time, man?" Jason walked off to his locker, "God, I'm sick o' you, man."

The arguments die down and I look down at my hand. I didn't realize how long I stood there, watching them argue, my hand now a prune, a wrinkly prune from all the distraction.

I dry myself off quick and wrap the towel around me, walking to my locker where I see Jason, sitting on the bench and looking pissed.

I stand by my locker still, asking quietly, "You okay, man?"

He looks up at me, as if trying to make sure it wasn't Timo. He tisks, cracking his jaw and saying after a second, "He's just so fucking hard all the time, man. Bitch gets on my nerves."

I nod, Jason standing and grabbing his stuff. Before I disrobe I watch him leave, Kenyan chasing after him and Worm trying to talk to Timo.

I stand at my locker, the door open and the towel around soon dropped to the floor, the sensation of being there, my entire body exposed and the _possibility_ rushing thoroughly through me.


	3. My Home

The walk home was always the most tiring; the most boring.

The guys are always catching up with each other from afar. Fighting. Laughing. Arguing. Running.

I'd be the observer.

On this particular night lots of people were out. Games were what got these kids together.

A crowd of girls managed to prevent Jason from walking off with Kenyan, stopping him with their short skirts and seductive purrs.

Kenyan stands, trying not to be a part of it. As far as I could tell he had a girl. As for Jason he was free as anyone could ever be, and he pulled one of the girls into his embrace.

Sometimes I'd see that being me. I was that girl they'd pull close, my small hands feeling the muscles underneath their Ts and their large arms keeping me close.

I never thought about it too long.

All thoughts would die when I stepped into my house. All thoughts would disappear so it was just me and the crappy stairs leading to my place of residence.

It wasn't even a house. I lived in an apartment. An apartment with low maintenance. An apartment with no high expectations. An apartment I am stuck in.

As I walk up the stairs a voice calls at me. I turn for a moment, seeing it is nothing but a group of drunken dropouts, and I ignore them and keeping walking up the steps. Don't get me wrong. I'm no dipshit snob or whatever. I just try to mind my own business. I've learned that it's what's best most times. To just shut up and keep on walking.

I make it to the door and pull out my key from my pockets. I fumble with it but finally put it inside, a huge whiff of food coming from the kitchen. Dad's making dinner.

"Hi son!"

A hand ruffles my hair, "Sup, bitch?"

I push the hand off and walk into the apartment, "Hi Darry."

Darrel Buckman; a dropout with a full ride to Duke University that he just tossed his senior year of High School. I remember being there when he got the letter.

"Darry, why are you so happy?"

"I got in, Will."

"What?"

"I got into Duke!"

"Really?"

"Fuck yeah, man! I'm gonna go to college!"

He never talked about it since.

It was the damndest thing, you know? I never understood it. He was thrilled to be going to college when he got the letter. And the very next day it was as if it never happened.

That was three years ago.

I placed my backpack down and proceeded to do homework. I had gotten a good amount of it done before the game, just some math to finish. And once it was done I stood and walked into the kitchen. Dad was still cooking but wasn't making much, like always. Poured some beans from a can into a pot and had some meat to go with it.

Darry sat down on the couch and turned on the game.

"How'd it go, Will?"

I pulled out the plates, focusing my attention mostly on them, "Fine. We lost as always."

"That'll change. Sorry I couldn't go. Work's been a bitch."

I got the forks, "Yeah."

Dad walked into the living room, "Damn it, Darry, get your ass up and help set the table!"

Darry grunted, standing and walking over, making the TV louder.

He walked into the kitchen, "How was the game, Willy?"

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever. How was it?"

"We lost."

"Figures."

"Darry, leave your brother alone and put the plates out."

He took them from me and stomped out the room.

I took the forks in and placed down one for each of us. Darry sat down and made me get the water. I stared at him, but he just adjusted his plate and said "Bitch, get to steppin'."

I got the glasses and we all sat down, Dad turning off the TV. Darry started serving himself.

"Darrel say grace."

"Grace."

"Darrel."

He rolled his eyes and put his serving spoon down, closing his eyes, "Bless God and all this food thank you thank you Lord for all the good shit you've done and please please one day let my brother's team win a fucking game in your name we pray amen now let's eat."

We ate.

Dad finished serving himself and put his elbows on the table, leaning into his food, "How'd school go, Will?"

"Fine."

"Dad, he don't pay attention to that shit. All he do is look up the girls dresses and try to picture 'em naked like I did. Ain't that right, Will?"

I thought of Worm's chest.

"Yeah."And Jason's. And Timo's.

I stuffed a fork full of beans in my mouth to prevent it.

"Yea, I would be able to ask your brother over here how classes have been going but what did he do?"

"Dad don't start-"

"He dropped out. Just up and drops out. With a full scholarship to one of the best schools in the country and he drops out."

Darrel put his fork down and leaned back in his seat, angrily cracking his jaw.

"Ain't that the stupidest shit you ever heard?"

"Dad just shut up."

"What you say to me?"

They stare at each other. Fights like this happened often between the two of them. Dad would bring up school and Darrel would get all defensive. I knew that all dad wanted was for us to get the fuck out of this place, but Darry didn't take the chance, and all that did was make dad angry.

Darry went back to eating and dad continued to talk.

"You ain't never gonna learn, are ya? Is this what you wanna be? A lazy piece of shit with no life? A lazy piece of shit with no means or opportunity to makes something of y'self? Nothing but a worm?"

"Dad, you better-"

"And what you gonna do?"

Darry glared at him, biting his bottom lip. Finally he stood, tossing his fork down and rushing to our bedroom, slamming the door.

Dad sighed. He wiped his mouth and continues to eat, a frightening silence.

He leaned back in his chair and looked at me for a minute. I looked back, trying not to look concerned. Then he forced a smile, standing, "Help me put this all away, Will."

I stand and do as told.

Once I'm finished I tell Dad "Good night" and he goes to his room. I turn off the lights on my way to my room. I open the door, a pair of underwear thrown at my face. Darrel laughs. I take them off, looking at him.

"I get you every time with that, man!"

I toss them aside and he lays back on his bed, stretching across the top bunk as always.

I take off my shirt.

"I still don't understand what the fuck that tattoo means, man."

I looked down at it. I got that tattoo on my fifteenth birthday. Lied about my age and everything. I just wanted to do something permanent. Something I knew would never change.

I shrug, "You don't have to get it."

He rolls his eyes. I take off my pants, him laughing, "You wear fuckin' briefs?" I walk to my bunk. He keeps laughing, "Are you for real? Dude, I thought I told you to get rid of that shit. Boxers give it more room. But briefs? What the fuck's wrong with you, man?"

"'Night, Darry." I shut the light off that's next to the bed.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Dude, get some boxers or at least wear the pair I threw at ya, 'cause briefs?" He cackled, "Dude that's some faggoty-ass shit right there."

I hear him roll over and I lay there. Staring at the wall. Staring at nothing, trying to fall asleep with my eyes open.

...

It's such a rush.

All of them. Naked. All of them bathing. All of them in the showers. No arguments, no fights, but naked. Bare. Bathing. Naked.

One of them stands there, his body slowly shaping as I walk closer.

It's Worm.

I walk, my own body bare. Closer. Closer. His body growing. Shaping. Forming. Evolving.

He sees me. His brown eyes bright. His body, his _entire_ body...beautiful, dunked underneath the trickling water.

I make it to him, us only inches apart. But I can't walk anymore. I just look. I soak him in. I watch him. I observe.

I put my hand out. I reach.

I reach out for him.

He smiles, "Go ahead."

I keep reaching.

"Go ahead, Will."

I go to touch him.

"Come to me."

And I gasp, throwing my head back, the semen coming out onto my chest, dripping onto my hand, going in between my fingers and curling into some of the light hairs on my stomach. Warm and familiar.

I take a moment to breathe. My eyes wide as I stare at the bunk above me, trying to catch my spattered breath.

I sigh, closing my tired eyes and holding my shivering body.


	4. The BasketBall Coach

But the walk to school? Damn, it is priceless.

Boys, all of those boys, running. Chasing after their girlfriends, skating, talking, leaning and just being boys.

I don't know what it is but it gets me so excited. I get thrilled and I can't stop looking at them. So I get a book, sit at a table and peer at them from it. I peak over my book and observe as I always have. And I love seeing them. Seeing them being boys. Watching them laugh and talk about the girls they've had sex with. Which team won last night.

As I watch I sometimes muster up the ability to look over at what the girls are doing. And they are generally always doing pretty much the same shit. Just not talking about sex. And I can't get excited. I just can't. I don't know why, but with guys I love every arm movement, everything they say, every which way they move. I could never find a way to enjoy them the way I enjoy my boys.

The bell rings and I have four minutes to get to English. I never found the class to be too interesting. Hell, I was lucky I was even passing the damn class. In the end it was just kinda easy. You read a book you write about it end of story B+.

I can't say I hated school, 'cause I didn't. I loved it 'cause of the boys, but I don't know. It wasn't intolerable or the worst time in my life. Calculus came easy and now that I look back so did most of my classes. Except Spanish. That was a whole other story.

But the one thing in school that got me next to dying with excitement was what?

Basketball.

Always basketball.

But you already knew that.

That bell rings and I rush out of my hated class of Spanish and I'm practically at the gym before even the coach is. The boys arrive. They undress. They laugh. Talk. Get into their gym clothes, their muscles, their bodies from underneath catching my wandering eyes. And I disrobe, the rush, the possibility, and then I get dressed, the rush, the possibility, and we run onto the court.

The boys are playing with the basketballs, talking the same talk they did when the day started. But for me and for them it never gets old.

Orlando makes a shot and Worm makes another.

"You know my girl Trina?" Kareem says, "Let's just say she was on her knees all last night."

"And I imagine that's as far as you and her will ever go." Brady laughed, "What she have to do? Search for it all night?"

Kareem lashes out at him but Brady just laughs and Kareem is held back by Worm. Everything cools down when Jason starts making shots again.

They're most dribbling and shit. I'm dribbling too but listening and observing like always. Timo and Worm are talking it up. Kenyan's trying to get the ball from Kareem. Jason makes his way over to Brady. And then Coach comes over, grabbing our attention, my eyes focusing on the new guy behind him.

"Now I've been lookin' for a new coach to take over for me this season," Coach says. He points to the guy next to him, "This here is Ken Carter. He went to Richmond. He was a two-scored all American. Still holds record of scoring, steals, a Basketball Scholarship to George Mason University. We're lucky to have Coach Carter," I kept hoping that the new coach would be someone young and muscular. Someone that I could check out, "Now let's give him the respect he's due. They're all yours, Coach."

"Thank you, sir," Carter shakes his hand. Coach walks away and Timo and Worm start their interrupted conversation. I cross my arms. I always do when I don't know what else I'm supposed to do, "Good afternoon, young men," Craig walked over to me, "As Coach White said, I'm your new basketball coach, Ken Carter," I was listening to Carter more than I was listening to Craig, "I guess you need to speak louder so you can hear me. I'm Ken Carter, your new basketball coach."

"Yo, we hear you, dog," Worm says, "but we can't see you. The glare from your big black-ass head is hella shiny, man. Damn, do you wipe it?"

We laugh. Damn, Worm was funny.

But Carter was slick, "Oh, so you got jokes to go along with that ugly jump shot of yours, huh?" Everybody "oos" and Jason cackles that distinct cackle he has. Carter continues, "First of all, you need to know my credentials as Coach White said," credentials: a qualification, achievement, personal quality, or aspect of a person's background, typically used in resumés to prove they are qualified, "They're on the wall there behind you," I looked. There it was, "Secondly, if basketball practice starts at three," K. Carter '71, K. Carter '72, "You are late as of two fifty-five," Jason makes a shot, "You, shooting the ball," he turns, "What's your name, sir?" Jason. Jason Lowe. Seventeen. Graduating that year, a fine man with a fine body.

"Jason Lowe, but I ain't a sir."

"You're not a sir?" Carter seemed surprised, "Well, are you a madam?" that was pretty funny. Brady muttered _bitch. Bitch! _"As of now, you are a sir. So are the rest of you. Sir is a term of respect. And you will have my respect until you abuse it," Mom always referred to her father and even dad as sir. I asked her why. She gave me the same answer, practically, only with a smile. And only with a kiss, "Mr. Lowe," Jason. Jason Lowe, "How many games did you guys win last season?"

"Like four wins, twenty-two losses."

"Sir." _"Mom, can I have my allowance this week?"_

"Sir." _"Oh, yes sir. Thank you for reminding me."_

I remembered that. I remembered that first game we won and how we thought it would be a winning streak for once. We won twice in a row, and then went to shit after that. We thought, we would make it for once.

Carter nodded, "I'm going to give you contracts," he hands one to Brady, "if you sign and honor your side of them," I read it, "we are going to be successful." _I will wear suit and tie to all games. I will not disrespect myself, my teammates, or Coach Carter. _

"Yes sir!" Carter said. Apparently Worm had said something, "You get to become a winner," _I will be to practice every day, on time_, "because if there's one thing I know, it is this," _I will play beyond the best of my ability, _"The losing stops now," _I will maintain at least a 2.3 GPA, _"Starting today you will play like winners, act like winners, and most importantly you will be winners. If you listen and learn, you will win basketball games. And gentlemen, winning in here," I crossed my arms, "is the key to winning out there," he held up a contract, "This contract states that you will maintain a 2.3 grade point average," that's a C, "You will attend all your classes, and you will sit in the front row of those classes."

"Yo, this a country ass nigger, dog-"

"Excuse me," Carter interrupted Worm, "Did you say something, sir?"

Timo jumped in, "Worm was wondering... are you some country church nigger with your tie on and all that?"

Worm muttered, "Right."

"That's what you try to say, right?"

"And what is your name, sir?" Timo. Timo Cruz.

"I'm Timo Cruz, _sir_."

"Well, Mr. Cruz, _and_ Mr. Worm, what you should both know is we treat ourselves with respect. We don't use the word nigger." Mom was the same. She hated shit like that. Nigger, coon, squaw, all of it.

"Are you some preacher man or some shit? 'Cause God ain't gonna do you no good in this neighborhood."

"Oh, I live in this neighborhood, sir." He sounded real proud too.

"_Sir_," Timo said prestigiously, "Can you believe this uppity negro, _sir_?" Brady and Worm laughed. So did Craig and Kareem. And most all of us.

"Okay, Mr. Cruz. Leave the gym. Right now."

That stopped all of us, "For what?"

"I'll ask you one last time to leave the gym before I help you leave."

"Before you what?" Timo walked up to him, "Do you even know who I am?"

"From what I can see a very confused and scared young man."

"Scared of who? Scared of you? I'm supposed to be scared o' you? Nigger, I ain't scared o' nobody; I will lay ya ass out." "_Why you think everybody's scared o' you? I ain't scared o' you!"_

"I don't think so."

Everyone watched. Timo looked away, "A'ight."

He started to walk away. I kept telling myself how unlike him it was to walk from a fight, but this was a teacher. He wouldn't be that crazy. But he was, and he aimed to hit Carter, and in less than a second Carter had Timo slammed against the wall, Timo saying, "Get off me, get off me!" We all watched, "Teacher's ain't supposed to touch students." I was thinking the same thing.

"I'm not a teacher. I'm the new basketball coach."

He tossed Timo away from the wall. And just like Timo he turned and shouted, "This ain't over!" but it was. It was really was over.

Carter stood for a second and then walked to the rest of us, picking up the contracts on the floor, "Is there anybody else who's not _feeling_ this contract?"

Dawson and Tyrone were out the door.

"I don't do high school contracts. Tell that when you meet the real ballers."

"I will do that, sir." Carter said to Dawson.

"There goes our two-leading scores from last season, man." Kenyan said, and it was true. Dawson and Tyrone were two of the best shooters. It was a shame to lose to bodies like theirs.

"Then I guess we'll have new leading scorers this season, huh?" In fact TY and Dawson were our leading scorers for three seasons, "Now I can't teach you the game of basketball until your conditioning is at a level that allows me to do so. Gentlemen, report to the baseline," no one moved. We weren't ever referred to as gentlemen, "To the baseline!" I knew what this meant. We walked over, "I presume you all know what suicides are. So," he blew his whistle. I ran. We all did, "I saw the Saint Francis game the other night. None of you had a problem shooting the ball," I did, "You all had a problem getting up and down the court. If you are late, you will run. If you give me attitude, you will do push-ups," that was on the contract, "So you can push-up or shut up. That's up to you."

"Yo, how many we gonna do?" Kenyan.

"Sir."

"Yo, sir, how many we gonna do?"

"Let's see how many you can do in..." oh shit, "One hour and seven minutes," Kenyan groaned, "Uh, fellas don't make me commit homicide. I said suicides; put your hand on the line! Put your hand on the line!"

I was eight. Mom sat me on her lap.

"_Okay, now, Will I am going to teach you proper etiquette. Do you know what that means?"_

I shook my head.

"_Well, it means that you will learn to be a gentleman, so that when you take a nice young lady out to dinner one night you will know how to treat her properly. Both my boys will grow up to be fine young gentlemen."_

No one else ever called me a gentleman.

...

Timo was naked.

"Go ahead. Come to me."

I came.

"_Sir it a term of respect, dear. I respect you, Will, and I show that respect by calling you a sir. You are a sir and will be respected. Don't let anybody ever tell you less."_


End file.
